Basic Genetics
by Indigo-Night-Wisp
Summary: Calvin is six years old the first time somebody asks if he is adopted.


**Disclaimer: I do not own this maze of bone and flesh and word and wit. But I do swear, that if I dare, I'll make something of it.**

**A/N: Dedicated to Fahiru. Thanks for the idea, m'dear!**

* * *

It isn't that Calvin's parents don't love their son. Because they do, they really do.

It's just that Calvin is _difficult _sometimes.

000

Calvin is six years old the first time somebody asks if he is adopted. It is at a party his dad's workplace is hosting, and the lady who asks is the wife of one of his dad's co-workers.

In her defense, Calvin _was_ using the punch to float a little paper ship and conduct a sea-battle.

"Is your son adopted?" the lady asks Calvin's dad, a little too loudly. Interested, Calvin turns to look at the little group of people standing nearby.

"No, he's not," Calvin's mother replies, sounding slightly confused. Calvin's dad looks uncomfortable, and Calvin absently wonders if his shoes are pinching his toes the way Calvin's are his.

"Oh," the lady says, surprised. "But you two seem so... normal! And Calvin is..."

"Is what?" Calvin's mom asks sharply.

The lady smiles sort of nervously, and Calvin, who is rather more bored with the topic than he thought he would be, thinks that it makes her look a bit like a hamster.

"I only meant-"

"I know what you meant," Calvin's mother interrupts. "And I don't appreciate it." She elbows Calvin's father in the ribs, hard, and he nods, slowly.

"Calvin is Calvin," he says quietly. "And we wouldn't trade him for the world."

This is the point where Calvin stops listening, having completely lost interest in the conversation. But he remembers his father's voice, quiet, in a rare display of solid, unshakable firmness, putting the lie to all the times his father had teasingly asked if they could give Calvin back to the stork.

000

When Calvin is ten, his class does an experiment on something called "genetics." They are all given charts with little squares drawn on them. Calvin gleefully begins sketching out a tic-tac-toe game, only to stop instantly when the teacher begins explaining about "traits" and "dominant and recessive genes."

For only the sixth time since he started school, Calvin is actually interested in what is happening in the class. He dutifully listens carefully and, when the teacher is finished giving instructions, happily begins filling out his Punnet squares. Next to him, Susie Derkins nearly dies of shock.

"Are you actually doing the assignment?" she hisses.

"Yeah," Calvin says back, not bothering to whisper. "It's cool." He finishes filling out the square with his parents' hair and eye colors and tilts his head to the side to admire his work.

It isn't until after class, when Susie demands to see his Punnet square, that Calvin notices that something about his square is... off.

"You did it wrong," Susie says, self-important and slightly relieved. Calvin might have done his assignment, but he did it incorrectly. The universe is restored to its natural order.

"What? No, I didn't!" Calvin protests.

"You did," Susie explains, kindly, now that she is no longer worried about the impending end of the world. "Look, see? This combination doesn't make sense. If both of your parents have brown hair and eyes, then _you _should have brown hair and eyes. You must have written the wrong letters."

"No, I didn't," Calvin says stubbornly. "My parents _do _have brown hair and eyes!"

"Then why don't you?" Susie points out.

Calvin glares at her. "How should I know?"

"Hmm," Susie teases. "Maybe you're adopted!" She flips her ponytail over her shoulder and waves at Calvin. "Bye!"

Calvin climbs on his bus and spends the entire ride home biting his nails.

000

"Hobbes?"

"Yeah, Calvin?"

"Do tigers have parents?"

"Of course they do."

"Do you remember yours?"

Hobbes rolls over to face Calvin. They are both lying in Calvin's bed, supposed to be sleeping.

"I don't think so," Hobbes says thoughtfully.

"Not even what they look like?"

If Hobbes notices that Calvin's voice is more plaintive than it usually is, he doesn't comment. Instead he just says, "Nope. But I can guess."

"What?" Calvin asks.

"Orange," Hobbes says, "with black stripes."

"Like you," Calvin whispers.

"Well, yes," says Hobbes. "Children look like their parents."

"I don't," Calvin says, voice wobbling a little bit.

Hobbes' ears perk up. "Calvin? Are you crying?"

"No!" Calvin declares fiercely. "I don't care!"

"I didn't say you did," Hobbes points out. Furiously, Calvin rolls over, putting his back to Hobbes.

"Calvin?"

Calvin sniffles, but doesn't answer.

000

Calvin is most _definitely _not crying. He hasn't cried in almost three years now. He doesn't cry when his teacher scolds him in front of the whole class. He doesn't cry when Moe blacks his eyes and shoves him into walls and pushes him off the very top of the jungle gym on the playground. He didn't cry that time last year when he broke his arm, and he doesn't cry now when he hits the ground, hard, because he wasn't watching where he was going and he tripped over a tree branch.

Calvin is ten years old and he doesn't cry.

He _doesn't_.

And anyway, even if he did, it wouldn't be over something stupid like this. Calvin doesn't care that he doesn't look like his parents. He doesn't care that he doesn't _act _anything like his parents.

He doesn't care that his dad once asked his mom if they could give Calvin back to the hospital. He doesn't care about what that question sounds like to him now.

He doesn't care that stupid old Hobbes looks just like his stupid old tiger parents, or that Susie Derkins' eyes are the exact same blue as her mothers. He doesn't care that sometimes his parents roll their eyes back in their heads and say, "Calvin, just _stop_. Calvin, why can't you settle down? Calvin, why are you so _difficult_?"

Calvin is ten years old and he doesn't cry.

000

"Think of it like this," Hobbes says the next morning while Calvin pretends to eat his cereal but can't manage to swallow anything, "_I'm _adopted."

Calvin's eyes, which up to now have been fixed pointedly on his soggy cornflakes, dart up to meet Hobbes'.

"Yeah," Hobbes continues. "'Cause now I live with you, right? So, technically, you adopted me. And you know what? I'm just fine with that."

It doesn't make it all better, but Calvin goes to school feeling slightly less miserable than before.

000

Calvin's teacher gives him an A on the Punnet square. There's no doubt that Calvin filled out all of the boxes correctly, but the space that was supposed to have _Calvin's _traits gives him pause.

"Calvin," Mr. Don says hesitantly, "you know that blond hair and blue eyes are supposed to be represented by a _lowercase _'b', right?"

"Uh, yeah?" Calvin replies warily.

Mr. Don crouches down next to Calvin's desk and quietly says, "You filled out the right letters in the square, but the _way _you did it makes it seem like your parents have brown hair and eyes."

To his surprise (and horror, really, because no one told him he was going to have to deal with this while teaching 5th grade), Calvin's eyes well up with tears.

"It's a simple mistake!" Mr. Don says, a bit frantically. "It can be fixed, easily."

Calvin shakes his head fiercely and scowls at him. The tears do not fall. "My parents do," he says.

"What?" Mr. Don says back, confused. Calvin takes a deep breath.

"My parents _do _have brown hair and eyes."

Sensing that a nerve has been struck, though rather puzzled as to how or why, the teacher backs off.

"Oh, okay then," he soothes. "That's fine." He stands, trying to make Calvin more comfortable, and walks back to the front of the room.

When he turns around to face the class, Calvin's head is buried in his arms and resting on his desk.

000

It isn't that Calvin feels unwanted. It's never been _that_.

Even when his parents sometimes get these wistful looks on their faces when they see other children behaving for their parents. It's not that Calvin thinks his parents want a different kid.

It's just that Calvin is so _difficult _sometimes.

000

Calvin, being generally unemotional and callous in the way young boys often are, does not appreciate the sudden change in his mental state that has occurred without his permission.

"Why am I so upset over this?" he demands of Hobbes one day while they are doing Calvin's long division on Calvin's bed.

Hobbes, being an amazing and longsuffering sort of best friend, doesn't need clarification.

"It's all psychological," he says, multiplying, subtracting, carrying, and starting the process over again. "You're upset because Susie Derkins is a meanie and teased you about it."

Calvin erases an incorrectly subtracted answer and scowls.

"Also," says Hobbes, "you're afraid she might be right."

000

The thing about Calvin, Hobbes reflects, is that he thinks too much.

Well.

The thing about Calvin, Hobbes amends, is that sometimes, under very specific circumstances having nothing to do with getting dirty, skipping school, climbing too-tall trees, or sledding down a huge hill at obscene speeds, he thinks too much.

All those other times, it is quite possible that Calvin doesn't think _enough_.

Hobbes considers himself to be a philosophical sort of tiger, but even he doesn't usually devote as much thought to any one subject as Calvin is to the idea of being adopted. Personally, Hobbes isn't sure why Calvin thinks it's so terrible, but that's Calvin for you. Things that seem perfectly ordinary to sensible, intelligent tigers apparently send ten year old boys into a tizzy.

At the moment, Hobbes is lounging on the couch next to Calvin's mother, watching a Spanish soap opera. Calvin is at school, probably being teased by Susie Derkins and forming ridiculous ideas about himself that Hobbes will have to train out of him later.

"You know, Hobbes," Calvin's mom says softly, not looking away from the TV screen, "I think there's something going on with Calvin."

Hobbes rolls his eyes. For someone who thinks he's just a stuffed animal, Calvin's mother spends an awful lot of time talking to him like he's a therapist. He doesn't answer. She doesn't expect one, and couldn't hear him anyway if she did.

"I mean," she continues, "he's so… _quiet _lately. It's like he's afraid that if he makes too much noise we'll… I don't know, remember he's there or something!" She laughs a little, like the idea of Calvin being afraid of any such thing is ridiculous.

Hobbes gives her a sad look. She has no idea.

000

When Calvin is six, he spends a lot of time at the doctor's office. Various scrapes, bumps, bruises, colds, coughs, and broken bones make him quite the regular. All of the nurses know who he is. They keep candy bars in their desk drawers for him, because Calvin is a charming little snot when he wants to be and he knows _exactly _how to work his boo-boos for the greater good.

The greater good being chocolate, by the way.

And then one day, when Calvin's mom brings him in because he's had a cough for nearly three weeks and now he's feverish, one of the nurses is new. She doesn't know Calvin, doesn't have treats for him, and spends the entire time he is in the waiting room eyeing him like he's some kind of Mess Monster that is going to ruin her perfect waiting room environment.

Never mind that Calvin is six and sick and tired and achy and has no energy to destroy anything at the moment.

She doesn't say anything until they are leaving, and even then, Calvin has no idea what she's talking about. He doesn't understand why his mom stiffens beside him or why her voice goes mad-quiet.

"Is that your son?" the nurse asks, and Calvin's mom is confused at first, and says that of course he is.

"Can't be too sure," the nurse counters sweetly. "You don't look very much alike you know."

And then Calvin's mother gets her mad-voice, and Calvin stops listening. What does he care anyway?

They never find out what the nurse's problem is. The next time they go to the doctor, she's gone.

000

Susie Derkins, Hobbes thinks, is one of the most irritating human beings on the entire planet, and he can't believe that he ever wanted her to be his girlfriend.

Calvin and Hobbes were at the park after school one day, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and ignoring all the stares and whispers coming from all the other kids who thought it was somehow funny that Hobbes was with Calvin. Honestly, hadn't any of these little cretins ever seen a tiger before?

They'd been having a good time. Calvin had lightened up, had stopped thinking about the A-word, and just when Hobbes had begun to hope that he had forgotten about it entirely, _wham!_

Stupid Susie Derkins.

"So, Calvin," she says, climbing up on the jungle gym next to him and leaning in with a cheerful smile. "Have you asked your parents yet?"

"Asked them what?" Calvin asks warily. He's been unusually cautious around Susie Derkins as of late.

"Asked them if you're adopted!" Susie says brightly, and Hobbes covers his eyes with a paw. She said the A-word.

Calvin's face scrunches up a little, like he's eaten something sour. "No," he says, too quietly. "I haven't asked them."

"Well, ask them then!" she says impatiently. "I wanna know if you're adopted or not!" Scrambling down from the jungle gym with more grace than Calvin has ever managed to achieve, she calls over her shoulder. "Ask them tonight and tell me what they say tomorrow!"

Then she's gone and Hobbes is left alone with Calvin at the top of the jungle gym.

"Ugh," Hobbes tries, half-heartedly. Calvin rolls his eyes at his best friend and falls off the jungle gym.

000

It might be Fate that brings the subject up at dinner. It could be that the universe has had enough of Calvin's misery and decides to give him a break.

Could be, but since the universe possibly hates Calvin, most likely not. It's far more likely that Calvin's guardian angel finally looked up from whatever comic book he's had his nose stuck in all these years and noticed that maybe he should be doing something about the current state of affairs.

Hobbes doesn't think much of Calvin's guardian angel.

"So, Calvin," Calvin's mom says as she spoons lasagna onto his plate. "What have you been learning in school lately?"

Hobbes, who is sitting on the chair next to Calvin's looks up in interest. Calvin freezes.

"Um," he says.

Calvin's father gives him a stern look over the top of his glasses. "You have been paying attention, haven't you?"

"We did Punnet squares," Calvin says quietly, looking down at his pasta.

"Oh, genetics!" Calvin's mother says cheerfully. "That's always fun. What have you learned so far?"

Calvin bursts into tears, startling both his parents and Hobbes, and shoves his chair back from the table. He starts to run for the stairs, but his father has apparently developed tiger skills sometime when Hobbes wasn't watching, because he catches Calvin before he's even made it around the table. Hobbes is, reluctantly, impressed.

"Calvin, Calvin!" Calvin's mom is saying, confusion and worry flooding her voice and making it much more high-pitched than usual. "What's wrong, honey? What's the matter?"

And so the whole sordid tale spills out, while Calvin is hanging from his dad's arms and hovered over by his frantic mother. Punnet squares, Susie Derkins, genetics, little B's and big B's, and that terrifying A-word.

"Adopted?" Calvin's father sounds bewildered. "You weren't adopted. Why would you think that?"

Calvin sniffles, chokes a little on some snot, and explains about the Punnet squares.

"Oh, baby," Calvin's mom says then, sharing a tender smile with Calvin's dad over his head. "Come on, honey, bring Calvin into the living room. I'll be right back."

Calvin protests some, for appearances' sake, but his father ignores his unconvincing grumbles and hefts Calvin into his arms as he walks them both into the living room. Hobbes is left at the kitchen table, which is annoying but not too insulting. He slides off his chair and sneaks over into the living room where he settles on the floor next to the big armchair that Calvin's father has settled into, Calvin sitting docilely on his lap, still sniffling occasionally and scrubbing one hand across his eyes.

"Here," Calvin's mom says warmly, dropping a stack of photo albums on the coffee table. "I want to show you something, Calvin." She selects a couple of albums from the pile and then leaves the rest as she turns to perch on the edge of Dad's armchair. Calvin looks at his father, who gives him a soft smile with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Look, Calvin," his mother says, pointing to a photograph. "Who do you think this is?"

He only looks for a second before saying, "Me?" in a muffled voice.

She laughs. "Nope! That's _your dad_."

Calvin freezes again. "What?" He takes a second look and blinks in surprise. What had looked just like a picture of a four year old Calvin has subtly changed. Now he can see brown eyes and that distinctive nose of his father's, prominent even at such a young age. But the floppy hair that curls all over the kid's head… it's _blond_.

He looks up at his parents. "I… I don't."

"And here," Calvin's mom holds out the other album, opened to a picture of a little girl with blond pigtails and a crooked smile that Calvin recognizes instantly. He has, after all, seen it nearly every day of his life, in the mirror.

"Mom?" he questions, fingers tracing gently over the little girl's face.

"That's me," she answers, smiling proudly.

"Your hair," he says.

"Sometimes," his dad says, "hair can get darker as you get older. That's what happened to both your mom and me. We had blond hair when we were young, but then as we grew up, it started turning brown. Yours might do the same thing, someday."

Calvin sucks in a deep breath. "So the Punnet squares…"

"What color are my mother's eyes?" Calvin's mom asks.

"Blue."

"And my dad?" Calvin's father prompts.

"Blue," Calvin breathes.

"Did your teacher explain about recessive genes?" Calvin's father continues.

"Some genes are more likely to show up?"

"That's right," Calvin's mom pipes in, ruffling Calvin's hair. "When someone with blue eyes and someone with brown eyes have kids together, then the kids are more likely to have brown eyes, because blue eyes are a recessive gene."

"That's what happened with your mom and me," Calvin's dad says. "But even though we have brown eyes, we still had the gene for blue eyes. And you know how Punnet squares work. There was a 25% chance that we would have a kid with blue eyes… and we did!"

"It was the least likely chance," Calvin's mom smiles at him. "Lucky us, huh?"

Calvin is _not _going to start crying again. Not even out of sheer relief.

"And look at this, Calvin," his father draws his attention back to the pictures. "See my face shape?" he runs his finger over the jaw line of a picture of himself at twelve or thirteen.

"Yeah?" Calvin says, leaning closer. His father reaches up and taps Calvin's chin. "That's yours, kiddo," he says. "Your face shape is just like mine."

"Really?" Calvin asks.

"Yup. It'll thin out in a few years, and then you'll have this killer jaw line like mine." He wiggles his chin back and forth, startling a giggle out of Calvin.

"You're ours, Calvin," his mother says with an undercurrent of firmness that Calvin found vaguely familiar. "Not adopted. I carried you around for nine months, I think I'd know!"

"Okay," he says softly, nodding. His parents hug him close and kiss his head and they finally get back to eating dinner, only to find that all the food is cold. They heat it up in the microwave and Calvin rescues Hobbes from where he is sprawled on the floor.

"Come on, you silly tiger," Calvin says, nudging Hobbes with his toes.

Hobbes jumps to his feet and follows Calvin back to the kitchen. "All this drama is making me hungry," he says. "Where's the tuna?"

"We're having lasagna, Hobbes," Calvin says reproachfully. "You can have tuna some other time."

Calvin's parents can't hear what Hobbes says back, and thinking about it later, Hobbes thinks that's probably a good thing.

000

"Calvin is Calvin," his dad says quietly. "And we wouldn't trade him for the world."

So there.

* * *

**A/N: I would just like to say here that I have nothing against adoption. Definitely not. My dad was adopted and I wouldn't be here if he hadn't been. Calvin's opinions on adoption in this story come from fear and a lack of information.**

**Once more, many thanks to Fahiru for your suggestions and for your lovely encouraging reviews. **


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